


The Ghosts are Back in Town

by nimmieamee (orphan_account)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Time Travel, teens who use too many references in their speech
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:26:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nimmieamee
Summary: Teen sleuths Betty and Jughead?Meet teen time travelers Archie and Veronica.





	1. (Baby Left With My) Ghosts Jacket

**Author's Note:**

> This has very little to do with the comics! This is an excuse for (mildly anachronistic) retro-throwback nonsense.

Midnight, the old Jones house. 

The house wasn't pretty. Never had been. It had two protuberant dormers poking out of the overhanging roof, so it brought to mind an exhausted frog. People's eyes passed over it when they walked by. Even though it had been vacant since the judgment against Jughead's father, hardly anybody noticed, because hardly anybody noticed the house itself. 

The best thing about it had always been the backyard. A double lot, separated from the railway line by a high wooden fence. It was dominated by the spreading oak with the treehouse, which had been there long before Jughead had been born, and which -- Riverdale being what it was, which was stuck firmly in time -- would likely be there long after Jughead left.

If Jughead left. He had two options. Option A: stay, go presumably nowhere, but maintain a certain classic local charm. The eternal outsider. Every town should have one. Jughead understood that he was Riverdale's, and had capitalized on this by turning it into an art: he was never watched, but always watching; he was rarely invited, but was very good at inviting himself; he was never expected, but he expected anything to happen (and here, things often did).

But this brought him to option B: potentially, at some point, leaving. Truman Capote hadn't been born in Holcomb, Kansas; he'd only traveled there for a story. To his subjects he'd been an out-of-town outsider, and this was infinitely preferable to being a homegrown one. No one held it against you if you seemed _outside_ if you were really from -- well -- the outside. 

There shouldn't have been a question about leaving Riverdale, but there was. There shouldn't have been a question about ignoring the old house, which, after all, could be sold to a new family any day now, but there was. 

He went almost every night. Usually while working on his novel.

He allotted himself three hours per day for the novel. He was good about keeping up with this, mainly because he decided that sleuthing for the Blue and Gold was technically working on it. And wandering around at night trying out lines -- _Jason Blossom's death disrupted the cycles so much of Riverdale had been trapped in, cycles of young and old, of summer to winter_ \-- was also working on it.

His wandering brought him to the treehouse. Which was as good a place as any to catch a nap, with the house sitting there serving as guardian frog, blocking the oak from the road. The ladder nailed into the oak stump would have been dangerous for anyone else, but he remembered its vagaries, which boards were too splintery or loose to really trust. Inside, the roof would be lower than he remembered and the one room smaller, but the treehouse still worked as a place to sleep and stash the occasional item. No one else ever went in it these days.

Or no one was supposed to. Betty had outgrown it. She was too busy with studying and extracurriculars. And a little bit of defiance ever since her sister went away. Just a sliver of defiance, like a crack in the pavement. 

He tried that one out as he climbed up: _Jason Blossom's death brought new questions and new sides to every personality, suddenly showing up like cracks in the pavement._

No. 

_Suddenly showing up like cracks in the armor we hadn't even known we were wearing._

No.

_Suddenly showing up like cracks in the armor we'd always denied we wer--_

"I'm sorry, Archiekins, but this is unacceptable," someone said firmly.

Female. Unknown.

She kept talking, and for one split second Jughead thought her voice was coming from inside the house. It was how she said _too small_ and _cramped_ and _absolutely not the kind of accommodation I'm used to_ \--

That tone thought it should be commanding empires, which suggested Cheryl, but Cheryl was more affected. This girl didn't have to try to be imperious; she'd have to try not to be. 

"I don't know what happened to my house," somebody said. "Ronnie, isn't that weird? The Jones bungalow is right here, but my house -- the house next door isn't--"

"Well, what did you tell her?" Ronnie said. "You must have wished for something ridiculous, Archie Andrews!"

Jughead was torn between staying in place and listening for more, or grappling for his flashlight. Option A was too uncomfortable. He had splinters digging into his hands. Option B it was.

He pulled himself up and went into a crouch, shining the light in their faces. It caught on a gleam of red hair, two shiny old-fashioned soda bottles, a strand of pearls.

A boy, a girl. The boy's jacket wasn't right. The colors were Riverdale's, but something about the cut was off. And the number was Jason Blossom's, which was impossible. The girl wasn't Cheryl. She was more overdressed than even Cheryl and twice as old-fashioned. An olive-skinned Jackie O. 

Archie looked surprised, handsome, and a little guilty. His companion looked lovely, irritated, and entirely unrepentant.

"Dead end kid," she snapped, and it took Jughead a second to realize she was referring to him. She pointed one perfect fingernail at his beanie to make it clearer. 

"He can tell us what's going on," she told Archie.

"Where's Mrs. Jones?" Archie asked Jughead. "And Jellybean? What's happened to Riverda--"

His companion shushed him with a wave of her hand.

"Whoopee cap," she told Jughead. "Can you tell us what year it is?"


	2. Teen Angels

The Blue and Gold was Betty's domain, and so the fact that Archie and Veronica were completely at home in the paper's offices was very unsettling.

"From the fifties," she told Jughead in an undertone.

"Or sixties," Jughead said. "I said, '2017.' So Archie said 'fifty or sixty years have passed.' But I don't think math is his strong suit."

Jughead had already outlined a chapter of his novel that would be about Archie and Veronica. It proposed several theories. 1. They were asylum escapees. 2. They were performance artists. 3. They were symbols of the town's repression, cooked up by his own psyche for the express purpose of featuring in his novel. 

Then the outline meandered for a bit until it settled on option 4: they were connected somehow to Jason Blossom's murder.

Archie and Veronica maintained that they were time travelers. If this weren't impossible, Betty might have believed it. Archie didn't look like other boys. With the exception of Jughead, who was by nature an original, Riverdale's boys went down two paths. They either swelled into football players or stayed as unobtrusive as Dilton Doiley. They weren't supposed to be _both_. Archie had the star quarterback good looks, but the earnest charm of the unassuming. 

This had to be because he was paired with Veronica. Betty couldn't imagine anyone trying to be assuming with Veronica. Veronica walked into a room and every other thing in it dimmed. 

Not that the offices of the Blue and Gold needed help to dim. Principal Weatherbee had been glad to let Betty revive the paper, but 'glad' didn't extend to any great budget expenditures. Some corners of the office were still coated in dust. The printer was an ancient behemoth that didn't work, so Betty printed everything at her parents' office. The computers were woefully out of date, so Jughead used his laptop. 

Archie and Veronica still marveled at it.

"Looks the same, except for the typewriters. Where are the typewriters?" Archie asked. "Why do you have a television in here?" He picked up the ancient IBM monitor and peered into it. Something about this was charming, even though Betty suspected he was playing a joke on her. Still, she couldn't help the smile she sent his way.

"That's a computer," she informed him.

Veronica said, "They shrank down the computers but Goober Pyle is still wearing a whoopee cap? Archiekins, this is _not_ my century."

Since she was maybe fifteen but was dressed head to toe like a congresswoman, no one contradicted her even though neither Betty nor Jughead really believed her. This was -- this was some kind of game. Maybe they were students from Pembroke and they'd decided to play a prank on the Riverdale kids. 

"Assuming I believe that you're from fifty or sixty years ago," Jughead told Veronica now, "How would you have gotten here?"

"We can't tell you that," Archie said immediately.

"A witch," Veronica said.

"A witch?" Jughead said. He was building to a smile of his own, and like a lot of Jughead's smiles it was sardonicism in action. 

Archie was saying, "We promised we wouldn't tell--"

"You promised. I didn't promise Sabrina anything," Veronica said. "And anyway she didn't give me what I asked for. This is obviously your wish--"

"It's really not, Ronnie--"

"I'm sorry," Jughead said loudly, "So Samantha from Bewitched sent you here--"

"Yes, Joe Friday," Veronica said. "That's what I said--"

The raised voices were making Betty's head spin. Or maybe that was the combined effect of Archie looking handsomely anguished, Jughead looking sarcastically savage, and Veronica -- well. Veronica didn't need to look like anything in particular. Probably just having that face was enough. 

Betty threw her hands up in a big T for time-out. Amazingly, they all stopped.

"Juggie, a sec?" she said. She pulled him out into the hall.

"First of all, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by references," she said.

"Understandable," Jughead allowed.

"Second of all," she said, "I don't really think they're doing any harm."

"They're lying about being from the mid-twentieth century," Jughead said, in the tone he used to discuss people who lied about witnessing murders, and people who lied about boating accidents that were actually murder, and people who lied about murder in general.

"...so?" Betty said. 

Jughead's expression didn't change. She'd have to spell it out for him.

"It's not like they killed somebody," she said. "And we know somebody in this town did. Let's not get distracted by these --"

Here she threw up air quotes. She knew they made her look goofy, but Jughead wouldn't care.

"--by the 'time travelers.'"

Attractive, arresting time travelers. Who seemed to know where everything was in the school newspaper office, and who Jughead claimed had a near-uncanny understanding of the older parts of town and the layout of the high school. 

With this coming on the heels of the town's first murder, maybe Jughead was right to pay special attention to the mystery of Archie and Veronica. But then maybe it was just a coincidence, or, again, a prank. Betty marshaled her thoughts and said, "Unless we know something that connects them to Jason's murder, I suggest we leave them alone. They're not hurting anybody." 

As soon as she said this, someone rapped violently on the other side of the newspaper office door, right by her ear. Betty flinched. It was Veronica and Veronica's nails.

"Excuse me," Veronica said, "But you need to come see this."

'This' was Archie, holding up an old yearbook and beaming. Jughead took it from him. He and Betty stared down at the page Archie had opened it to. A photo of Archie and Veronica stared back. 

_Sweetest freshman couple of 1960? Absolutely, positively, Archie Andrews and Veronica Lodge._

"1960?" Betty said.

"They highlighted a pair of freshman in the yearbook?" Jughead said.

Veronica tossed her black hair over her shoulder.

"Not just any freshman couple," she said. Her next words made her sound alarmingly like Cheryl. "I mean, I am the daughter of Hiram Lodge."


	3. Strange Things Are Happening

If Veronica thought they would know her father, she was doomed to disappointment. Jughead and Betty obviously had no idea. As for Archie, he tried to be supportive, but since Mr. Lodge had never actually liked him, he couldn't muster up too much sadness that the old man had been forgotten. 

Anyway, that was the least surprising thing he'd learned all day. 

After they'd made their wishes and left the gang at Pop's, he'd offered to walk Veronica home. Trouble was -- the walk didn't take them where it should have. 

Veronica had noticed first.

"Archie, am I mistaken, or did someone take the Woolworths sign off of the Woolworths?"

Someone had. And someone had replaced the record shop with a gas station, and repaved Cedar Drive completely. On Hill Lane, trees that should have been tiny sprouts were massive, casting shadows that competed with pools of too-bright lamplight. Because even the street lamps were different. Archie couldn't understand it; it wasn't like they could have all been replaced overnight.

Veronica, who was sharper than people thought, came to the right conclusion even before they reached the Lodge mansion. She kept nudging Archie when they passed cars that looked a little wrong, houses that had been bricked up or replaced completely. 

Archie had known for sure when they saw the Lodge mansion and the name on the mailbox was Blossom. The fence had been replaced, too. Same house, sure. But it wore a different dress now. 

Veronica's response had been steely.

"That shuckster Sabrina is going to hear it," she'd said. 

"You didn't wish for this?" Archie had asked, confused.

"Archie, what about me suggests that I want to live in a Riverdale as surreal as a Jerry Lewis movie?"

Point. Maybe the steel was in place of mounting panic. Archie had never actually seen Veronica break down or panic, so it was easy to accept this new information about her: when she was upset, she turned to ice.

He would have liked to be half as steely, but when their attempts to get back to Pop's left them on his street (someone had put a highway ramp where no ramp or highway should be, and they had to detour into his neighborhood), he might have looked like a total wimp instead.

His house was gone. The yellow Andrews gablefront, much-beloved, had been replaced by a wide white colonial. Archie's palms were sweating too much for him to even consider ringing the bell, so Veronica rang it instead. When no one answered, she fiddled with the mailbox until she'd pulled out a few letters. For such a wealthy girl, she had a very loose conception of personal property.

Everything was addressed to a Cooper. Alice Cooper. Hal Cooper. Betty Cooper. Polly Cooper, care of Alice Cooper.

Archie had never before considered just how many Coopers he'd never met before. A lot of Coopers. Particularly these four, who had a house right where his house should be.

They'd ended up in the Jones treehouse mainly because that was the most familiar thing in town. Veronica insisted that _her_ wish hadn't done this, so it had to be his. But how could it be? All Archie had wished for was a chance to get his music off the ground. He'd thought Sabrina would make a talent show happen, or get a big record producer to come to town. 

Jumping fifty or sixty years into the future -- Archie had no idea how this was supposed to help him. Music was probably _really_ far out now. Who knew if he'd even recognize it when he heard it?

"Maybe I'm here to look for new music," he decided, when Jughead and Betty had left them to go to class.

"I think they locked us in," was all Veronica said, frowning at the door. "Do you think they locked us in?"

Jughead might have. Betty had certainly looked very apologetic about something when she'd told them that, if it was true that they were teenage time travelers, under no circumstances were they allowed to wander around Riverdale until she and Jughead had gotten to the bottom of it.

"I know the Riverdale you know is pretty idyllic," she'd said, "But this town's changed recently, okay?"

And then, before Archie could ask her why she thought _his_ Riverdale was so great, she and Jughead had left for biology class.

And they had locked them in, it turned out. Veronica remedied this very quickly with some hairpins, which Archie thought was smart of her.

They poked their heads into the hallway. It was clear. Veronica stepped out first.

"Pop's, three-thirty," she announced.

"What?"

"I'm not going to hop around on your arm while you look for the future of music, Andrews. I owe Sabrina a reckoning and I'm going to figure out how to give it to her."

With that, she was off down the hall. Archie wasn't sure they should split up, but he _was_ sure that she wasn't heading in the direction of the music room. So, with a shrug, he turned and went the opposite way.

The school didn't seem to have changed much, and neither had the route to Pop's. He didn't think either of them was likely to get lost. 

The bigger problem would be getting back to their time. Archie was trying really, really hard not to flip his wig about that.

Back in their Riverdale, he was known as a pretty brave kid. But in this Riverdale, his palms were still sweating. He thought they might have been sweating for the past twelve hours.


	4. Off and Running

Veronica Lodge wasn't going to let fifty or sixty years unsettle her. 

She'd been through worse. Her father had faced a financial scandal in '56. Her mother, a rather drastic social scandal in '58. And Veronica herself faced a million smaller scandals every day. If the home economics exhibit didn't go off well, it was really her fault, as class leader. If the pep rally wasn't perfection, there was no harm in being casually cruel to Veronica Lodge about it. She was head of the river vixens and the richest girl in town, besides, so the assumption was that she could take it.

Being Veronica Lodge was exhausting. If Veronica didn't like herself so much, she might have wished to be someone else entirely.

But she hadn't wished for that. Most days she did like herself; she couldn't help it. There were of course qualities she didn't like, like her impatience. But her core -- her Veronica-ness -- wasn't something she especially hated. It was less that Veronica had wished to not be Veronica Lodge, and more that Veronica had wished to be the best Veronica she could be.

Specifically, she'd blown out her Sabrina-gifted Happy Anniversary Archie and Veronica candles, and wished for a chance at reinvention.

Maybe she should have been more specific.

Now she was a place where no one knew her. She could reinvent herself here, sure. But it was anyone's guess how she was going to survive. Peering through the glass window in the door of a classroom, she found her in. Red hair. Well-tailored dress. Pearl earrings for a touch of sweetness. Revlon-red lips for a larger touch of authority.

It was depressingly easy to locate this generation's Veronica. She could claim that it was because like called to like, but really it was because girls like her were beautiful and prized, but they weren't exactly original. 

And the second she walked into this classroom, this girl would know Veronica for her equal and mirror. If she was smart, she'd try to neutralize Veronica. An overture masked in kindness, a sweet inquisitiveness that hid savagely determined fact-finding. A declaration of friendship. The kind of friendship that flooded the other person, that left them uneasily exposed, that made them vulnerable to any sudden separation or shift in power. 

Girls like Veronica were very, very good at friendships like that.

Veronica pushed open the door and walked in. Red-haired Veronica reacted before the teacher did. _Good_ reaction time, worthy of a Lodge.

"Who are you?" she asked, speaking for the whole astonished class. "You're not new here, are you?"

She flashed her teeth at Veronica. They were brilliant. They made Red-Hair into the kind of petulance that smiled.

"I guess I am," Veronica said, and smiled to match her exactly.

They were both petulance that smiled.

"No one told me we'd have a new student--" the teacher began.

"I tried to register this morning, but it was a mess and a half," Veronica said. "I could really use some help with that."

"I'm Chery Blossom. _I_ can help you--"

It only took a second for Veronica to cut her off and make her choice, but a second was enough. More than enough time to notice Betty Cooper in the back row.

"Oh no, that's okay," Veronica said abruptly. "I think Betty was supposed to be my student guide."

Cheryl Red-Hair flashed vicious for a second, but only for a second.

"Betty?" she asked slowly.

"Right there," Veronica said, picking Betty out. 

Betty slid down below her lab stool before she caught the boy next to her shaking his head at her.

"Veronica," Betty said, giving up. Every word came out polite and uncomfortable. "It's. You. Here. Right now."

"Veronica Lodge," Veronica told the class. At the teacher's instruction, she went to sit next to Betty.

Reinvention. It was stupid to have tried to wish for it. If Veronica wanted it, she would take it. 

And there was something about Betty. Something glimmering, a shine more inviting than dazzling. Not a hint of Veronica-ness to her, and no suggestion that Betty could help get Veronica in with anyone. 

Betty wasn't -- absolutely wasn't -- petulance that smiled.

In fact, right now she was barely-concealed panic that was trying hard not to grimace.

"I'm Kevin Keller," said the boy next to her. "Love the look. Very Jackie O."

Veronica was going for Jackie Kennedy, but she smiled politely back. In the front row, Cheryl Red-Hair turned and looked at them assessingly. Veronica flashed her a smile too. Veronica's smiles were more dazzling than inviting, but that was alright if they were aimed at someone like Cheryl. 

Still, she felt her smile going lighter as she turned it on Betty. Something about Betty felt new and free. Like she'd broken away from financial scandals and social scandals and even the home economics exhibit.

"Betty didn't tell us you were coming," Kevin said.

"Trust me, Kev," Betty said, under her breath. "Betty didn't know."

"I was supposed to start at Riverdale High earlier, but there was a mix-up," Veronica said.

"Much earlier," Betty said. "Much, much earlier."


	5. Goodbye Geraldine

Archie was by the auditorium when he heard the music. 

There was no music like this in his Riverdale. His Riverdale was trees and lawns and all those other symbols of safety, like the record shop that had taken ten years to stock rock 'n roll ( "a contributing factor to our juvenile delinquency today"). 

This wasn't really rock 'n roll. It wasn't anything Archie could name. It was the kind of music that clung to your shoulders and purred against your ear and didn't let you shove it off. That was the only way he could describe it.

He was leery of interrupting and making it stop. And he was leery of approaching the three girls who were making it because they were --

Well. They wouldn't have been _un_ -welcome in his Riverdale. Veronica was welcome. But his Riverdale wouldn't have known what to do with them, probably. 

It took Archie maybe forty minutes of respectful listening to figure out what he could do. Introduce himself, obviously. Ask to learn. Ask to learn? Yeah, he was a learner. He'd only picked up a guitar this past summer, and it had been mostly to amuse himself while Veronica was in Europe and Sao Paolo. He'd written a few songs but he couldn't shake the feeling that any talent he had right now would be a lucky fluke. It wasn't like he thought about what he was writing. The writing just kind of happened. Certain things just sounded right. 'Loveliness of loving you.' 'Like the summer sunshine.' Maybe it wasn't poetry, but it worked in his head and it made him happy.

It just wasn't all that good. 

_This_ was good. This was --

Someone walked into him, standing in the shadow of the stage. She screamed. It was one of the cat-singing girls. 

"Oh my god," she said. "For a second, I could've sworn you were Jason Blossom!"

"Oh, no," Archie said, embarrassed. "I'm Archie."

He wasn't sure what else to say. She said 'Jason Blossom' like she was trying to shake off a ghost. 

"Why are you standing there like a creeper, Archie?" said another cat girl (the small one, who Archie was instinctively nervous around, because she seemed like she knew what she was doing). "Pussycat jam sessions aren't open to the public."

"So you're the Pussycats," Archie said, seizing on that. "Like -- like the Shirelles."

"Like, 'we're not your personal jukebox,' Frankie Avalon," said the small one. "Out. Now."

She physically waved him off the stage, her movements so deliberate that they conveyed that she was afraid of nothing. This wasn't just a musician; this was a born _performer_. Archie didn't want to leave until he figured out how to be the same. He looked pleadingly at the first girl. She shrugged.

"Val," said the smaller girl sharply. 

Val put a hand gently on Archie's shoulder and steered him in the direction of the hall door.

All in all, not a great first impression on the musicians of the future. 

But it had made him forget, for a second, that he _was_ in the future. That was what good music did. It steered nervousness and panic into a more productive place, like it was carving grooves in your head and letting the bad stuff pour out. So how was he going to get the Pussycats to notice him? To let him learn? That had to be the reason he was here.

Dejected, he continued down the hall. He heard the strains of a cello coming from the music room, but it hardly cheered him up. In fact, the only thing that just about did was the familiar name tacked to the side of the door.

_Music.  
Geraldine Grundy._

Old Miss Grundy was still alive. That was swell. That was --

Wait. No. It wasn't swell. It was impossible. Miss Grundy was a cool seventy-three back in his Riverdale. Here, she'd be well over a hundred years old.

A daughter? No. A niece? 

He caught sight of the cello player through the door.

Had to be a great-niece. She didn't look _anything_ like Miss Grundy, that was for sure. In fact, the more he looked at her, the more his brain wanted to scrub out any recollection of nice, boring old Miss Grundy to replace with thoughts of this new one. 

She caught him looking and came to the door.

"Can I help you?" she said. "You don't go here, do you?"

"Not -- not at this time," Archie said quickly. "I mean, not here. I'm not a Riverdale High kid."

Something about the way she spoke made him not want her to know that he was a kid at all. Sure, she could probably tell he was. He was wearing his letterman jacket and all. But there was some small chance that she would think he was older, and she was so -- so non-Grundy, all eyelash flutters and sudden hands on his bicep and a bicep _squeeze_.

She said, "Well, as long as you're just visiting. Come in. Let's get to know each other."

"I'm a musician," he told her when they were sitting by the cello. "My name's Archie."

"For a minute there I thought you were Jason Blossom," she murmured. It was a real murmur, her voice low and crawling. She was really examining Archie now, from his head to his feet. He felt like there were ants crawling all over him, but he figured it couldn't be that bad, because it wasn't like having an attractive woman look at you _could_ be bad.

"You're the second person who's told me that," he told her. "Who's Jason Blossom?"

She waved him off. Her eyes kept running all over him and now the ants feeling was intensifying. He liked her, but he didn't like the feeling, but maybe he could live with it.

"Really, I'm just here to learn about music," he said.

"Well, if you go to Riverdale, I can teach you here," she said. "But if you're not my student, we could work something else out. After hours."

Archie's mouth grinned, while Archie's brain dropped back into mildly-confused panic. This Riverdale was very, very different from his.

"I really do want to learn about music, though, Miss Grundy," he said.

"Call me Geraldine," she said. "And I can work with that."

Her hand danced back up his bicep.

"Gosh, can _I_ call you Geraldine?" came Jughead's voice from the doorway.

The new Miss Grundy jumped back nearly a foot. Archie was about equal parts relieved and disappointed.

"I see you met my pal Archie," Jughead said. "He's new. And fifteen."

Actually Archie was probably sixty-five or seventy these days, but then when he thought about that he got even more nervous because he remembered the old Miss Grundy. Under Jughead's level gaze he started to worry about what _that_ Miss Grundy would say about all the bicep squeezing.

Or his dad. Or even -- gosh, he was a jerk -- even Veronica. 

Jughead practically dragged him out of the room.

"Okay, Danny Zuko, that's a felony," he said. "From now on you stay attached to me until we figure out how to send you back so that we can keep working on Jason Blossom."

There was that name again. But Jughead didn't say it the way other people said it. There was no mystique in how Jughead reeled it out. He said it like he was saying, 'trigonometry problem.' 

"I look like him," Archie offered.

"Superficially," Jughead said. "Can anyone really resemble Riverdale High's own star quarterback All-American?"

"Well, yes," Archie said, though he was pretty sure it was meant to be a hypothetical question. "I mean, I'm both of those things. Or at least I was."

Jughead stared at him. Archie stared back. Jughead didn't look like anybody he'd ever seen before. He seemed to lean as often as he stood, and even while casually leaning he gave Archie the impression of too many elbows, knees, and deft fingers. He wasn't miraculous like the Pussycats or beautiful like the new Ms. Grundy was, but he did feel strangely honest and original. For the second time that day, Archie stopped panicking.

Jughead said, "Can I ask, did your hobbies include soda shop dates with the richest girl in town and dramatically owning school hallways?"

"It's just walking down them," Archie protested. "It isn't owning -- I mean, the owning is more what other people think--"

Jughead held up a hand, a scarecrow gesture that was all in the elbow. 

"Alright, teen dream. I get the concept of 'perspective.' I'm exploring the possibility that all this really is tied to Jason Blossom."

"What does that mean?" Archie said, exasperated now.

"It means you stick by me," said Jughead.


	6. Cuttin' Out

"I'm glad Pop's is still here. We assumed it would be, but you never know," Archie said. "Did we _really_ have to cut school, though?"

"History class would confuse you," said Jughead. "We're up to Reagan. You're not yet."

He'd brought Archie to Pop's. If places belonged to those who loved them -- and Jughead liked to assume they did, otherwise no place would ever be his -- then Pop's belonged completely to Jughead Jones. Outside, Riverdale had unfurled an oppressively cheery day to welcome Archie and Veronica, a blossom-scented May morning in the middle of September. Inside, Pop kept the shades drawn so low that the light was neon-tinted and easy. Everything smelled like old vinyl and burgers.

Jughead couldn't afford the burgers and wasn't going to be a rat about ordering one and skipping out on the bill, but the waitress brought them coffee on the house anyway. Pop thought that if he offered Jughead coffee, then he'd have no reason to kick Jughead out. Jughead took his time about drinking it. 

Archie didn't touch his at all.

"I've never missed a day of school," he said now. "Not even when I was six and had a cold. I came in anyway because I thought I should and I told my dad I should, and then I gave the cold to the whole class."

"Yeah, see, couldn't that have been prevented if you'd just missed school?" Jughead said.

Archie considered this.

"Yeah."

Like his girlfriend, he was an objectively pleasing arrangement of excellent skin and well-trimmed hair; a teenage dream both in daylight and in the diner's dim glow. Jughead could understand, sort of, why people might see him and think Jason Blossom. 

But only sort of. 

Jason Blossom would never have worried about cutting out of class. Or protested at the thought that he owned Riverdale High the minute he set foot in it. Jason, like every other wealthy, rich athlete who populated Riverdale High, had been true to the narrative of the town. He'd been a John Hughes high school villain, grinning behind a crisp upturned collar.

Archie, by contrast, seemed _decent_. Jughead almost felt cheated. The football team were Riverdale's holy heroes, sure, but they were fake. And Jughead expected fake. The town wanted saints; but saints, when you got down to it, were just ragged collections of animal bones that somebody centuries ago had mistaken for superhuman. 

"It's still not fair for you to miss school just because I'm from the past," Archie was saying now. "I can pretend I know about rayguns if you need to go to class."

Jughead quashed the impulse to correct him. He'd have to explain Reagan, and right now educating Archie was low on his current list of priorities. He still wasn't sure he even believed what Archie claimed. All the evidence was there, from the wholesomeness to the yearbook photo to the starched cleanliness of Archie's collar. But the conclusion didn't work. 

"Forget school," Jughead instructed. And he would forget, or at least stall, his disbelief. It wasn't going to get him what he needed.

"We need to figure out the connection between you and Jason Blossom," Jughead said, "if there is one. Let's assume there isn't. If this is a prank, it's masterful and deeply disturbing. You show up in town a week after we learn Jason was killed, looking like Jason, wearing his old number--"

"This isn't a prank," Archie cut in. "Honestly, I'm telling the truth--"

"Or, dishonestly, you're not," Jughead said, waving him quiet. "But fine. Say you are, pal. That means the impossible is possible. We already knew that, since it seemed impossible to think Jason could die--"

"Wait, this Jason guy is _dead_?"

"--but that's just the impossibility of small town self-delusion. This is real impossibility."

"How'd he die?"

"Murder," Jughead said. "Rayguns."

That was darkly humorous, but he regretted it immediately. He didn't mean to be like that about the murder. He'd never bothered to be respectful of Jason Blossom in life, but death was odd. It launched Jason back into the most mellow kind of past. It was like now Jason lurked in pools of light and laughter in the high school hallways, or tucked somewhere in last springtime's soda social. Jughead didn't have it in him to be dismissive of anything that could regress like that, that could wind back to a time when things were simpler and easier.

Even though he knew perfectly well he hadn't liked Jason. Everyone knew it. And right then, four or five experts on it walked into Pop's, intent on cutting class themselves.

Reggie. Chuck. Moose. Two or three of the others: steve or sam or schmuck. The names didn't matter. 

"Great," Jughead said. At school he'd usually just walked away, but this was Pop's. Pop's was his domain. And usually Jason's old crew respected that, for all that they were assholes, but now--

Now he was sitting with an athletic, attractive, eerily-red-haired boy who happened to be wearing Jason's old number. Jughead realized it at the same time Reggie Mantle did, passing Jughead's booth only to double back, mouth dropping open.

"What the hell is this?" he said. "Is this some sick joke?"

"Cool it," Jughead said. A lie floated to the top of his mind and he grabbed at it before it could dissipate into panic. "He's new, and Coach Clayton offered him a spot on the team just this morning."

Reggie leaned his fists on their table, smooth about it, like his every movement was cushioned by the enormous cloud of ego that followed him just about everywhere.

"You're telling me that _I_ spent the morning being questioned by Sheriff Keller, but _you're_ already palling around with Jason's replacement? That's offensive."

"If what I say offends you so much, you really don't want to hear what I keep to myself," Jughead said.

Reggie's mouth twisted. Jughead's pulse shot up. Technically Reggie wasn't any big threat -- Jughead's dad was so good at generating violence that FP should have been bottling and selling artisanal varieties of it at Riverdale farmer's market -- but this particular push-pull had been going on since kindergarten, and it never failed to make Jughead both exhausted and a tiny bit suicidal.

"Say that to my face," Reggie said in an ugly voice.

"I just did. Now, if I throw a stick, will you leave?"

Reggie's hand shot for his throat. Jughead narrowly dodged it, and as he did he vaguely processed Archie looking horrified. Archie didn't know that grim mockery of people like Reggie Mantle was kind of Jughead's whole thing. 

Archie launched himself across the booth. He upset his coffee mug in the process, but he managed to separate Reggie from Jughead. Jughead caught Pop and the waitresses staring from behind the counter, relieved.

But now Reggie was looking at Archie, astonished.

"Look," Archie said, holding up his hands placatingly. "I get it. Riverdale lost somebody who meant a lot to you all. And I'm sorry, okay--"

For a second, that decency about him shone very, very bright. It kept shining, but the problem was that he also kept talking. 

"--if a friend of mine got shot with rayguns--"

" _Rayguns_?" Reggie said, enraged now.

He lunged a second time. This time he and Archie went sprawling over the table, knocking over the remaining mug and breaking it. A waitress screamed. Pop shouted. Moose and the others got involved. Jughead spared a second to hope that they were going to pull Reggie off of Archie, but the thing about Moose and fights was that you could never be sure if he was helping or just making things worse for all the other participants. 

Jughead mouthed an apology to Pop. Then he dove in to help Archie.


	7. Step by Step

Veronica expected Betty to ask, "why me?" But she expected it right away, not at lunch time after four periods had passed. And she expected Betty to trust her answer. Betty clearly didn't.

"I'm being completely straight," Veronica said, though Betty didn't look like she believed her. "You're the Annette Funicello of this school!"

"I don't know what that means," Betty said.

The fifty year gap was doing a number on Veronica's cultural knowledge. She pressed on regardless. She knew, intellectually, that Betty was right to mistrust extravagant compliments. But what Betty trusted or didn't wasn't the point. Veronica was in the mood for extravagance. 

She had no money here, no social status. Sabrina's spell had resulted in a bizarre fall from the top of the social ladder. The effect was dizzying. Suddenly, she was nothing to Riverdale, nothing to anyone. But a rich princess with nothing was still a _princess_. Veronica's Veronica-ness wasn't gone. She might be empty-handed, but the fact that she remained a Lodge was wedged like a knife in her teeth. 

Lodges knew that a princess with nothing would still be a princess. 

"Cheryl is nice and all, but--" 

Kevin shook his head. "No, no she's not," he said, around mouthfuls of his lunch. Veronica waved agreeably, mostly to get him to stop speaking with his mouth open.

"Or maybe she fakes it. Fine," Veronica said. "But you, Betty. You're real people."

Betty bit into her apple and made a brief, self-conscious face. 

"Cheryl's a real person too," she said. "Real people? Can be terrible."

As soon as she said it she looked contrite. But she didn't take it back. Betty had been undiluted, helpful sunshine for four periods, but now the sunshine broke. There was a flash of terrifying sincerity in the way she talked about Cheryl.

The way she talked about this generation's Veronica. 

"Is it so odd that I'd want to get to know you?" Veronica asked. "Or is the problem that you're a little bit suspicious of me?"

Betty choked on her apple. 

"I'm not suspicious," she protested. "I don't do suspicious--"

"I do," Kevin said. "Where did you even come from, Veronica?"

"An excellent question," said Cheryl Blossom.

Her sudden appearance was as strategic as her meticulous lipstick and venomously-sweet spider pin. Veronica gave her a seven out of ten for impact but a three out of ten for playing completely to type.

Cheryl slid in across from Veronica and right next to Betty. For a second, Betty's discomfort could have been seen by that poor little dog the Russians had launched into space. Then Betty smothered it, like she thought it wasn't ethically responsible to be uncomfortable around people who were clearly trying to discomfit her. 

"So," Cheryl said now. "Where did you come from, Veronica Lodge? And why doesn't the school have any record of you prior to today?"

"Were you asking around about me at the office?" Veronica said. "I'm flattered."

"I had people do it for me," Cheryl said severely. Veronica was vaguely aware of a cloud of giggling girls a few feet away. She had a feeling that, for all that they were Cheryl's people, at most times Cheryl was probably only vaguely aware of them too.

"It doesn't do to go creeping around when you have a school to run," Cheryl continued blithely. "I mean, it would be fine for Betty. She doesn't have anything else to do."

"She does. She's in like fifteen clubs. She's even in the gardening club--" Kevin cut in.

"Not helping, Kev," Betty muttered.

"Silence," Cheryl said, holding up a hand. "Darling as Betty's extracurriculars are, I'm not interested. But _you_ , V. Lodge. There's something about you, wandering into our school dressed like a young republican. Refreshing. I feel like you could grow on me. If river vixen tryouts weren't closed, I would offer you--"

"The river vixens are still around?" Veronica said, suddenly interested. "Are you a river vixen, Betty?"

Betty would look wonderful in the uniform, sweet as a dandelion in summer. 

"Still around?" Cheryl said.

"Nooo, no, I'm not a vixen," Betty said.

Cheryl said, "Nor will she ever be. Also, excuse me, _still_?"

"My family used to live in Riverdale back when when the vixens were first founded," Veronica said. "I think the original founder had girls like Betty in mind when she started it."

"Your lesbian ancestor sounds adorable," Cheryl said flatly. "Alas for poor Betty, she and I don't mix. I don't suppose she's told you why? The truth is, I can't make myself get along with people who secretly cheer the death of my brother."

"Cheryl!" Betty said, shocked and vehement. "I do _not_ \--"

"Betty's sister Polly was in love with him, as were all the girls," Cheryl said, steamrolling ahead. "But Jason was so pure-hearted he never went with any of them, because you see he would have told me if he had. Anyway obviously it made Polly crazy not to have him, as it would make any girl, and so the Coopers could barely hide their delight when it turned out Jason had been brutally murdered. We just found out it was murder last week. I hope Polly didn't have anything to do with it. We all hope that, don't we, Betty?"

Cheryl's flair for drama was a clear ten out of ten. Veronica gaped at her.

"I'm not happy Jason's dead, Cheryl," Betty said now. "God. That's -- that's a _horrible_ thing to say. But Polly wasn't--"

"Save it," Cheryl said, bringing up a hand again. "Do you think I need a lecture on the sainted Cooper women, Betty? At _this_ time in my life, when I've just lost a brother? At least crazy Polly is still alive."

With this, she stood, and for Cheryl standing meant dramatically floating upwards, secure in the knowledge that all eyes were on her. 

She finished with, "V, do look me up. Having declared your allegiance to Betty, I won't press it. Blossoms don't beg. But I _did_ think you should know who you're hanging out with."

She floated away. Veronica stared after her. Veronica knew how to make a production herself, but she liked to think that hers were a little less low-budget drive-in movie. And it was one thing to make the production and another to witness it.

"So, she hates you because your sister dated her brother--"

"Oh no, she's hated Betty since way before all that," Kevin said.

"--and her brother was murdered and she's telling people your sister is crazy--"

The bell rang. Betty shot out of her seat. 

"Trig," she said hurriedly, collecting her things. "It's time for trig."

"Oh, Betty, I don't believe her," Veronica protested. "That was lightning-fast theater and I know it."

"Cheryl's specialty," Kevin said, as he gathered up his own tray. He sounded almost admiring. Veronica trailed after the both of them, still trying to configure Cheryl's sensational story into something that fit reality a little better.

Betty wasn't any help in that regard, because it was clear that she didn't want to talk about it. She spent most of the afternoon ignoring Veronica's questions and Kevin's vague and gossipy answers. Eventually Veronica gave up.

But as Riverdale High's students filed out of class for the day, Betty hung back by Veronica.

"Where are you gonna go?" she asked quietly. "You're from 1960. There's no way you can just -- just walk home."

"Oh, I'm meeting Archiekins," Veronica said airily, though she had been thinking the same thing. 

"I'll go with you," Betty decided. She fell into step with Veronica so easily, and it occurred to Veronica that for all that she didn't know Betty, nothing about Betty was unfamiliar. Not her simple cardigan, not the bounce of her ponytail. It all felt deeply right; and this walk, she realized, seemed like it had always been inevitable. Had seemed that way ever since she'd first seen Betty.

"Polly isn't crazy and she didn't kill anybody," Betty told her, as the chatter of the other students fell behind them.

"I definitely didn't think that she had," Veronica said.

Betty nodded, like this was alright. 

"She did have a thing with Jason, though," Betty said. "Just before he died. I think he hurt her somehow. She's -- my parents said she had to go away to get better."

"Oh," Veronica said. When Betty told the story, there was no dramatic flair. But it had drama anyway. Betty was open yet twisting somehow, dodging away from the words Cheryl had used, like _crazy_ and _murder_.

"Do you think she's getting better?" Veronica asked.

Betty blinked, blue eyes going wide.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Well, so what are you doing about all of this?" Veronica asked.

It felt like the right thing to ask. Veronica had no siblings (this was a matter of identity; girls didn't develop into full-fledged _Veronicas_ if they had to share parental attention. Probably they only became Cheryls at that point, which was sad when you thought about). But if Veronica had had siblings, she didn't think she would let anyone slander them either. 

"I can't do anything for Polly," Betty said. "My parents won't even let me visit. But if I can figure out what happened to Jason, I can prove it wasn't Polly."

"Sleuthing?" Veronica said, shocked. Who knew sunshine-and-dandelions Betty Cooper had it in her? 

Betty smiled goofily. "I always used to want to be Nancy Drew. Jughead's helping, too."

Jughead seemed about right for a sleuth. Veronica could picture him skulking or sneaking, or doing whatever else it was you needed to do to investigate a murder. Unpleasant things, probably. And the old Veronica would have thought, _That's just the job Jughead needs. Let's leave it to him, and let's not pay any more attention to it, and also never ask him about it, because daddy would choke on his port._

But she was carefully stepping away from that Veronica. So the new Veronica said, without even having to think about it very hard, "I'll help, too."

**Author's Note:**

> [(Baby Left With My) Ghosts Jacket](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQWdMxAtKOQ) // [Teen Angel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gcc2kGPq16k) // [Strange Things are Happening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Ta9180-EM4) // [ Off and Running](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oB7qV99f1IM&list=PLR2AiKXKQiyCJBfJsCdqGX4DJm6tWD2ZP&index=31) // [Geraldine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RAVHgNVNqc) // [Cuttin' Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yPgNj9hn4I) // [Step by Step](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jbtTTcnXV0)


End file.
